Springfield Elementary
by CheeseDealer
Summary: Millhouse can take it no longer...


Elementary: A work by (CheeseDealer)

Bart Simpson leapt out of bed in anticipation of the day's glory. It was the last day of school, for many, many marvellous weeks of holiday. Oh, words cannot describe the happiness that buzzed around Bart's body, and he felt sincerely like flogging his log in anticipation.

He settled instead, for cleaning his teeth.

He quickly dressed in the same attire that had covered his skin for the past decade, and slid down the banister, got a splinter in a very uncomfortable position, and had to stand on his head to eat breakfast.

Lisa also descended the stairs at an amazing rate, but her quick journey was due rather more to the fact that Snowball II had just exploded during a catnip-high than anything else.

The school bus arrived soon after, complete with new "Go-faster stripes," and special seats designed to eject rowdy pupils out of the bus. Bart boarded, and the stench of death and abattoir-like amount of gore quickly gave rise to the theory that a small child had been ejected whilst the bus was driving under a bridge.

"Hey Bart-man" greeted Otto cheerfully, whilst listening to "The Wombles Greatest Hits" on the bus's CD system.

"Hey Otto" smiled Bart, before looking round very carefully and asking in a more subdued tone "you got the shit?"

"Of course I got the fucking shit, foo'" said top government agent McAlester Ready, momentarily forgetting he was disguised as humble Caucasian bus driver Otto, and so, adding as an after though "I mean, sure…"

He reached into his pocket, and pulled out several "Spice World" bootlegs.

"You didn't get those from me" said Otto, suddenly hiccuping and vomiting violently all over his turtle-shell dashboard.

During dinnertime, Bart enlisted the help of Millhouse to set up a stall in the shadow of the school, from where he could sell the counterfeit copies of "Spice World."

"So, which looks better?" asked Bart, holding three suits out before him.

"This one… this one… or this one…"

"It doesn't matter Bart," said Millhouse slowly, shaking his head and reaching into his bag.

Suddenly, Millhouse stood to his full height, allowing Bart to see the Hatchet he had removed from his bag. Bart began to walk backwards, after a few dry words of protest, and began to shake his head. Sweat ran down his face, as he began to look for escape. He opened his mouth to scream for help, but his words, nothing more than a dry whisper, caught in his throat. He continued to walk backwards, but Millhouse was upon him, the polished steel blade of the Hatchet glinting in the light of the brilliant sun. There was a dry cracking sound as Millhouse brought the Hatchet down on Bart's forehead, and thick, dark blood began to pour from his wound and onto the floor, several small trickles ran down his face, soaking into his clothing as he struggled to maintain his balance.

He fell, and as he did so, the Hatchet was pulled from his skull, allowing even more blood to pour from the wound, and Bart closed his eyes and pressed against the wound with his hands, but Millhouse was ready and he brought down the hatchet again, this time crumpling through Bart's stomach, and more blood was pouring then, pouring to the cold floor and Bart's eyes where closed and he was coughing on blood and trying to shout for help but his cries where to weak now for even Millhouse to hear and Millhouse removed his Hatchet from Bart's stomach and raised it above his head and brought it down for a third time.

Bart lay dead at Millhouse's feet, a pool of dark blood forming around him.

Millhouse withdrew the Hatchet from Bart's chest, and reached into his bag, withdrawing a gun from its dark confines.

He rounded the corner, firing as he went.

Ralf was the first to fall, having unfortunately been venturing in Millhouse's direction.

A bullet ripped through his collarbone, fracturing fragile cartilage and bursting through the skin at the other side amidst a shower of blood and bone fragments. The second bullet ripped through his gut, embedding itself in his spine. Ralf fell to the cold floor, blood filling his mouth and forming a puddle around his corpse. A few moments passed, before Ralf's body began to spasm, thick dark blood filling his mouth, and ripping to the floor. 

Second to fall was Uber, with three bullets in his stomach. Blood and all manner of liquids sprayed from the three wounds, and Uber fell. He clutched at the holes and began to vomit a mixture of stomach acid and blood onto the cold ground.

Millhouse fired once more, his bullet ripping through Nelson's right eye and bursting from the back of his skull amidst a mixture of blood and brain fluid.

Reaching into his pocket, Millhouse found another clip, and re-loaded his weapon, firing again.

Jimbo, who'd been stood gaping in horror at Nelson's side, was the fourth to fall, the bullet ripping through his throat. Blood cascaded from his throat, and he fell crumpled to the ground, his eyes wide in fear and shock.

Martin backed away from Millhouse's blood splattered form, tears welling in his eyes and his trousers stained wet where, in fear, he'd pissed himself. He began to cry; salty tears trickling down his eyes, perching on his top lip for a moment, and falling to the ground.

A bullet ripped through his cheek, blood and bone spiralling out of the exit wound as the bullet continued its trajectory and flying into Skinner's stomach.

The Principal's eyes widened in pain, and he stood still for a moment, blood pouring to the ground.

He cried out weakly for his mother, before another bullet ripped through his ribcage pierced his heart. He almost seemed to smile for a moment, before he coughed up blood and fell to the floor.

More and more pupils fell under Millhouse's fire, until the playground was awash with blood, glinting in the light from a beaming sun.

Finally, the last pupil fell, a pair of bullets lodged in his brain.

Laughing maniacally, Millhouse observed the devastation he had caused.

Blood covered the floor, and dead bodies lay everywhere. Millhouse smiled, and then he turned the gun at let it rest on his tongue. The steel felt cold as he bit down, and pulled the trigger.

"No… god no…" cried Grounds keeper Willy, falling to his knees in despair, and weeping.

"Just look at this mess I've got to clean up."

End…


End file.
